


Making the batter understand too late

by randomizer



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:38:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomizer/pseuds/randomizer
Summary: Amelia doesn't know anything about baseball, but she does know that Ginny Baker is unlike any client she has ever had before.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hauntedd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedd/gifts).



> "The Pitcher"  
>  _His art is eccentricity, his aim_  
>  _How not to hit the mark he seems to aim at,_  
>  _His passion how to avoid the obvious,_  
>  _His technique how to vary the avoidance._  
>  _The others throw to be comprehended. He_  
>  _Throws to be a moment misunderstood._  
>  _Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild,_  
>  _But every seeming aberration willed._  
>  _Not to, yet still, still to communicate_  
>  _Making the batter understand too late._  
>  — Robert Francis

**Windup**

Sitting in the meeting, Amelia is frozen, slowly processing words as individual icebergs, dispassionately observing them one by one floating out to sea. Eric had packed up and moved out that morning; she had simply watched what had been her life for the past eight years dissolve into blankness.  
****

And then she is looking up at the TV in the meeting room, the white, empty space of her mind filling suddenly with color and promise. A young African American woman, a baseball player, is running and throwing and smiling, unconscious of the camera but owning it nonetheless. Captivated, Amelia finds that she can’t look away from the screen. Who is she? A caption responds: GINNY BAKER. WILL AA TEXAS HURLER BE THE FIRST WOMAN IN THE MAJORS? And now Amelia is standing, is hearing herself quitting the best-paying, most important job she’s ever had, is walking out in the middle of the meeting without a second thought, or even a first one.

Amelia does not recognize herself, this woman making such an abrupt, wildly out-of-character decision. All she knows for sure is that she is going to Texas to talk to that girl, to sign her as a client. She’s not a sports agent, and she has no idea how good a ball player this Ginny Baker might be; such details seem unimportant right now. Amelia is absolutely certain of only two things: Ginny Baker is going to be a star, and Amelia is the one who needs to get her there. She has never believed in any concept as romantic as destiny, but she’s believing in it right now. For whatever reason, she and this young woman are meant to change each other’s lives.

 

**Knuckleball (Strike One)**

_A knuckleball is a pitch thrown so as to minimize the spin of the ball in flight, causing an erratic, unpredictable motion_.

  
Ginny turns toward Amelia with one of those rare, startlingly wicked smiles that never fail to catch Amelia off guard. “So how old were you?”

Amelia rolls her eyes. “How old was I when what?” She’s certain that, whatever Ginny answers, it won’t have much to do with future salary scales, which is what they had supposedly been discussing. Amelia has gotten somewhat used to Ginny’s general impatience with talk about money, with anything not directly about baseball strategy and workout plans.

It’s just one of the many ways that Ginny unbalances her. Amelia is accustomed to being the most logical and confident person in any given room. It’s why she's so good at her job: she knows exactly how to get what her clients need, no matter what it takes. Sure, she can be a little detached, a little clinical, but all the better for analyzing situations and finding creative solutions. Amelia can give others what they might need emotionally without draining anything from herself, can help people without ever become truly involved in their problems. It might seem cold, but it also makes her a great agent.

But from the beginning it’s been different with Ginny, and Ginny is unlike any client she has ever had. Amelia tries not to dwell on that difference, but she can never fully shake the peculiar feeling she has when the two of them are alone together, as if she’s never quite sure what Ginny might say or what might be about to happen next. She doesn't even know if she likes or dislikes that feeling, whether it’s exciting, annoying, or some odd combination of both.

“When you knew you wanted to be an agent. I was six when I knew I wanted to be a pitcher.” Ginny looks at Amelia expectantly; she really wants to know the answer.

Amelia gives herself a mental shake, focusing on the conversation at hand. She hesitates before responding. “It’s not the same thing. You were born to be a pitcher; you couldn’t have been anything else. I . . . well, I didn’t have a _calling_ like you do.” She feels a little silly, using a grandiose word like “calling” to describe a profession of throwing a little round ball, but it fits and she knows it.

Ginny has a flash of an expression that might have been wistful, and then it is gone. She gives a half-smile to cover it up. “And how old were you when . . . other milestones happened?”

Amelia braces herself once more against the swerve of the Ginny train, which she feels lurching out of her control once again.

 

**Sinker (Ball One)**

_A sinker is a type of fastball pitch which has significant downward and horizontal movement and is known for inducing ground balls._

  
As soon as she hears her phone buzzing at 3 A.M., Amelia knows that Ginny is calling, and she also knows why. She gropes for it on her nightstand, tapping “Accept” automatically. It has become a routine for both of them, one that neither ever speaks of the next day.

“Amelia? I . . .” Ginny is gasping on the other end.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes? Ok?”

Amelia has no idea why she has become the one to whom Ginny has chosen to show this vulnerable side of herself—she has Blip, Evelyn, even Mike. The two of them aren’t even exactly friends, not really. All she knows is that Ginny calls her when these nighttime panic attacks strike, and that for some reason Amelia does not mind giving away precious hours of sleep for this particular client.

When she arrives, she finds Ginny on her couch, head in her hands, trying to breathe normally. Amelia sits next to her, talking softly about nothing at all and waiting for it to pass. At long last, it finally does.

“I’m sorry.” Ginny is not looking at her, and Amelia knows that she is embarrassed.

“Don’t be. You’re under more pressure than I can ever imagine being. Anyone would feel it—this is just how it’s coming out in you physically.” Ginny looks away, and Amelia feels her heart flip a little at the flash of pain she sees in her eyes before she does. She wonders what, wonders who, Ginny is thinking about right now.

“You can go. I’m fine. I’ll just go back to sleep.” Ginny’s voice makes it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Have you been able to do that lately?” Amelia is also the only one to whom Ginny has mentioned her struggles with insomnia.

Ginny shrugs without responding.

“I think I’ll stay for awhile. Why don’t you just close your eyes and I’ll tell you about something boring enough to put anyone to sleep?”

“And what might that be?” A ghost of a smile, a little of Ginny’s snark. Good.

“Let’s see . . . have I ever told you any of George Clooney’s stories about his work on ‘The Facts of Life’? He thinks it’s the most interesting thing anyone could ever want to hear. I’m sure you’ll agree!” Ginny laughs, and Amelia feels a rush of pleasure at the sound.

Amelia talks on, hardly conscious of her own words. Ginny’s head sinks down on Amelia’s shoulder, and her eyes close. Amelia touches Ginny's forehead softly (in a gesture that feels as natural here in the darkened room as it would feel completely unnatural anywhere else) and keeps talking, listening to Ginny’s breathing become slower and more regular as she finally sinks into sleep.

 

**Curveball (Strike Two)**

_A curveball is a type of pitch thrown with a characteristic grip and hand movement that imparts forward spin to the ball, causing it to dive in a downward path as it approaches the plate._

  
Amelia and Mike are lying in bed, bantering back and forth, when he says something that makes her want to sit straight up and stare at him. She freezes instead.

“You’re totally in love with Ginny.” He’s smiling, apparently with no idea that his words have any more effect on Amelia than his statement ten minutes ago that pineapple pizza is vastly under appreciated.

“Huh?” Amelia can’t seem to muster even one of the many, many words that are generally at her disposal. Mike, for his part, doesn’t notice how flummoxed she is.

“I mean, your whole life is about her. You jump when she hollers, and you defend her to the death. What do you call that?”

“I call that her being my client. I call that doing my job. That’s why she’s paying me ten percent of a very handsome salary.” Amelia feels her voice rising a little, and she fights to keep it calm. What’s going on with her, anyway?

Now Mike _is_ noticing. “Hey, Slater—I was joking. At least, I _thought_ I was.” He’s giving her a sideways look, and Amelia is furious with herself.

“If anyone’s in love with Ginny, it’s you. Do you think none of us have figured it out?" Actually, Amelia doesn't think what she's claiming is really true—Mike might be attracted to Ginny, sure, but love is something else again. Still, it has enough of a grain of something real to hit with a little bite, as Amelia had calculated that it would.

Mike sits up to side-eye her, his face mirroring the way she fears that her own might look if anyone could peer beneath her mask. “Hah! We’re friends, and she’s my pitcher. If you knew anything about baseball, you’d know that.” He seems sufficiently distracted for Amelia to relax a bit, relieved to be sleeping with perhaps the only adult in the world on whom the trusty _I’m rubber, you’re glue_ rebuttal actually works.

Amelia does not allow herself to consider whether what Mike said has any truth to it at all, because she knows it to be ridiculous. Yes, she admires Ginny. Yes, she believes that she is going to be remembered as one of a very small handful of women who change the way we perceive the world. Yes, she feels lucky to have her as a client. But that’s all there is to it, all there ever would be.

 

**Screwball (Ball Two)**

_A screwball is a pitch that is thrown so as to break in the opposite direction of a curveball._

  
The day after her conversation with Mike, Amelia finds herself cataloguing all the things that she finds annoying about Ginny Baker. She certainly isn’t in love with the girl in any way, shape, or form; really, she may not even really  _like_  Ginny, at least, not all of the time. Ginny is self-centered, for starters. She rarely notices anything that Amelia does for her, and even when she does, she doesn’t thank her for it. Amelia has had her share of difficult clients, but Ginny’s combination of bravado and insecurity has required a deft touch that almost nobody else would have been able to approach. Amelia has done it all, done it well, without a thought of an _atta girl_ anywhere.

Amelia shakes herself out of this pleasant moment of self-pity when she realizes that Ginny has said something to her.

“Um . . .” Amelia stalls, hoping for a clue about what she has just been asked.

“Well, what do you think? It’s a good idea, isn’t it?” Ginny looks impatient, and Amelia finds that irritating as well.

“What do you like about it?” Amelia congratulates herself on this approach; it stands a reasonable chance of providing her with vital information without disclosing the fact that she had been so focused on the _idea_ of Ginny that she hadn’t been able to pay attention to Ginny-the-person at all.

“I think speaking in front of groups of girls in foster care would be something that I’d enjoy, and I think they’d like it, too. It would be after the end of the season, probably close to the holidays. What do you think? I have to let them know by the end of the day, so they can start scheduling it.” Ginny really looks as though she wants this, and that surprises Amelia. Usually if it’s not about baseball, Ginny has a hard time getting excited.

It _is_ a good idea, Amelia thinks. It’ll be great for Ginny’s brand, and, of course, it will also be inspirational to a group of young women with few things in their lives that inspire. She feels her annoyance with Ginny slipping from her grasp, even as she perversely tries to hold onto it.

“Yes, it’s . . . it’s fine. I think you should do it. Just have them call me, and I’ll take care of the details.”

Ginny looks at her, smiling broadly, and all Amelia’s irritation melts away into a pool of something much harder to articulate.

 

**Changeup (Ball Three)**

_A changeup is the staple off-speed pitch, usually thrown to look like a fastball but arriving much slower to the plate. Its reduced speed coupled with its deceptive delivery is meant to confuse the batter's timing._

  
“Amelia!” Ginny sounds exasperated, and Amelia’s mind immediately ticks off some of her possible transgressions. Amelia doesn’t even remember the last extended conversation that she has had with Ginny, so she can’t imagine what she might have done to upset her.

“Yes?”

“Has your phone been off? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday. Where have you been?” Ginny is frustrated, and Amelia doesn't blame her. Turning off a phone to avoid speaking to one’s client is certainly unprofessional, and she can’t even believe that she actually allowed herself to give in to such an impulse. What had started out as an hour's break had somehow stretched into a couple of days of radio silence. Amelia finds that not talking to Ginny means not having to think about her, and that temporary mental cessation has been a peculiar relief.

“I’m sorry. It . . . the battery has been acting up, but I’ve replaced it. It should be fine now.” Ginny seems to accept the lie (although why wouldn’t she, really? Who would expect her agent to be hiding?). She braces herself for whatever problem Ginny is about to toss her way, ready to resolve it immediately.

But Ginny unexpectedly softens. “I’ve just . . . we’ve been a little out of touch. I tried you last night, when I . . .”

With a wave of genuine guilt, Amelia gets it. “Oh. Did you . . . how long did it? . . .”

“Not long.” Ginny cuts her off quickly. “It was fine. I’ve just gotten too used to being able to . . .”

“No, I’m sorry. You can always . . .”

Ginny looks at Amelia, and then looks away. “Yesterday was actually the anniversary of the first game I pitched in Little League, after my father insisted to that coach that I get a shot. I felt amazing that day.” Ginny didn’t often talk about her dad, but he was always present for her, and Amelia knows it.

“Ginny . . .” Amelia trails off, and Ginny shakes her head.

“Not trying to play the Dead Dad card. Yesterday was just a weird day, is all.” Ginny has one of those expressions on her face that Amelia usually only sees on panic attack nights; it cuts through her with biting sharpness.

“I was going to say . . . my dad died, too. Not like yours . . . we knew it was coming. But I miss him all the time.” Amelia never talks to anyone about her father, about the call she got right before she graduated from college that his cancer had spread, or about the four agonizing months that followed before it was finally finished. But it’s always with her, too.

Ginny looks at Amelia, not saying anything for a moment. “Thanks . . . for doing what you do. I appreciate it.” Amelia finds that she can’t speak. She just nods, and Ginny nods back. At that moment, they have the ability to experience each other’s feelings.

 

**Four-seam Fastball (Strike Three)**

_A four-seam fastball is usually the hardest (i.e., fastest) ball thrown by a pitcher._

  
“Why would you interfere? Will’s my brother, and this was my problem. Not yours. Mine.” Ginny is glaring at Amelia, fury radiating from her in almost visible waves.

Amelia wonders how she will be able to explain that Will and his cons would have dragged Ginny down so far and so deep that she would never be able to claw her way out. She knows that she did the right thing, and she also knows that Ginny will never see it.

“I’m sorry.” Amelia braces herself against the rage, trying to survive the onslaught.

“Your job is to take ten percent of my income and do what I ask you to do. That’s your job.” Ginny is walking closer, speaking louder, and something inside Amelia breaks hard.

“When are you going to realize, once and for all, that it’s not all about you.” Amelia is choking on the words, barely able to breathe.

 **“** If you hadn’t come along when you did, I’d be exactly where I am now, and probably happier.” Ginny is tossing words at Amelia like missiles, each one hitting its target precisely and mercilessly.  
****

“I take this crap from you, and I take it, and I’m not going to take it much longer.” The words are out of her mouth before Amelia can consider whether she means it, but it’s gone too far for her to take them back even if she wants to.

“Then don’t,” Ginny shrugs.

It’s the end, and Amelia knows it. She looks at Ginny, who glares back defiantly. “You know, one day you’re going to regret this. One day, you’re going to be at your lowest point, and you’re going to look up and you’re going to need someone. And it’s not going to be your dead father, and it’s not going to be your con man brother. It’s going to be me, and I’m not going to be here for you.” It is, Amelia thinks, an excellent exit speech, much better than might have been expected of her. Nobody would ever realize how much her heart is breaking as she utters it, or how much saying it costs her.

She and Ginny regard each other for a long moment. “Yeah, well.” Ginny says it with finality, and there are no words for either one of them after that.

 

**Out**

Amelia sits in the airport, telling herself that getting away from Ginny is really for the best. She was a plum client, of course she was; golden tickets like Ginny Baker don’t grow on trees. But Amelia has a great reputation, and she knows that other clients with real star power will come along. She’ll be fine, she tells herself. She even believes it.  
****

And that hollow feeling, that deep sadness that she can’t seem to shut off no matter how much she tries to ignore it? That’s natural too. She put a lot into this client, and leaving before she really has a chance to reap the rewards would be a loss for anyone. There is nothing more to it than that.

“Group A is now boarding.”

As Amelia rummages for her boarding pass, she looks up and is startled to see Ginny on a TV screen right in front of her. She starts to turn away but catches the caption before she does: BAKER INJURED IN PADRES TWO-HIT SHUTOUT WIN. She sees Ginny cradling her arm, not looking into the camera. And then she is gone.

Amelia starts to tremble, a highlight reel of Ginny Baker clicking faster and faster inside her brain. She sees Ginny’s anxieties and her brilliant smiles, her pain over her father and her anger at her mother, her unexpected sense of humor and her deft way of handling the press. She pictures Ginny on the mound, graceful and beautiful, and she sees all of the girls holding up their “I’m next” signs at her games. There’s Ginny in that red dress, getting ready for the party; Ginny kidding around with Evelyn; Ginny teasing Mike. And she pictures the end of everything, Ginny’s career over before it even really begins.

Amelia hesitates, looking at her boarding pass, deciding. In the end, it is Ginny’s final “Yeah, well” that drowns out all the other memories. She isn’t that person for Ginny any longer.

Amelia steps toward the plane. There is nothing left but leaving.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, hauntedd! Your prompt really spoke to me, so I indulged myself in writing you a treat that I hope you enjoy. I had fun playing with it. (And I certainly hope you're serious in your professed love of angst, because there be angst aplenty here!)


End file.
